Sherlock Holmes Has A Question
by ReneeLaRoux
Summary: During a quiet moment together, Sherlock finds himself longing for more. Sequel to "Sherlock Holmes Has a Girlfriend", but also could be a stand-alone story


Sherlock Holmes Has A Question

(I do not own any part of BBC's Sherlock. I just like to imagine)

 _Summary: During a quiet moment together, Sherlock finds himself longing for more. Sequel to "Sherlock Holmes Has a Girlfriend", but also could be a stand-alone story._

Softness. It enveloped his senses as he climbed into consciousness. Eyes closed, early morning sunlight drifted through the window and his eyelids. He breathed in deeply. Hints of lavender and vanilla, mingled with skin and sweat. The room was silent, save for the gentle _in_ and _out_ of two pairs of lungs and the occasional sleepy sigh. Sherlock shifted, rolled onto his side, mattress creaking with him. The silky sheets twisted against him, reminding him of his nakedness. He finally opened his eyes. Beside him, facing him with her right hand tucked under her chin, was Molly. Her hair was fanned around her on the pillow, and her creamy skin was illuminated by the dawn. He found himself desperately wanting to kiss each freckle.

She, too, was unclothed. The silken sheets were pulled up loosely around her waist, and even in her sleep she covered herself in modesty. He felt the smile creep over his mouth – he absolutely adored moments like these with his Lovely. When she slept, she looked so innocent and sweet. Like she didn't have a care in the world. Like she didn't spend her days with the deceased. Like she didn't live with the fear of her boyfriend in near-constant danger. She deserved so much better than him, he mused, his fingers whispering over her rose petal lips. And yet, he couldn't bear to think of his life without her now.

One year and nine hours. That's how long she had loved tenderly, waited patiently, sutured carefully, chided good-naturedly. Last night they had celebrated their anniversary, and quite thoroughly, if he did say so himself. First, dinner at their favorite French restaurant. Then, an evening stroll back home, where they had enjoyed strawberries and champagne (Molly's idea, which turned out to be a very _nice_ idea). Shortly thereafter they had stumbled into his room and fallen amongst the sheets, lost in each other. Now he lay swimming in a sea of emotion and desire. He _needed_ her, in every sense, and the longer he lay there, the more he understood what exactly he wanted to do.

Struck with an idea, he ever-so-carefully climbed out of bed and pulled the sheet up over her shoulders. He slipped into his favorite robe and padded silently out of the room. He set to work in the kitchen, quiet as a mouse. Twenty minutes later, he stood back and smiled, feeling quite proud of himself. On the counter sat a tray with a plate of toast and jam, a bowl of fresh berries and cream, and two cups of coffee. Now, to surprise his Lovely. Balancing the tray carefully, he tip-toed back to the bedroom. He found her stirring, stretching languorously into his side of the bed.

"Is that coffee I smell?" she murmured, still not opening her eyes.  
"Maybe," he quipped. She cracked an eyelid.  
"What are you doing?" she asked, sitting up, sheet slipping to her hips. He was temporarily distracted.  
"I'm bringing you breakfast in bed," he replied simply. She smiled and scooted back to her side of the bed.

He gently lay the tray between them, shed his robe, and climbed back onto the mattress. She giggled. He quirked an eyebrow.  
"Are we breakfasting nude?" she asked. He grinned and passed her a slice of toast. They ate in silence, only the sound of munching and sipping filled the room. Finally, Molly paused.  
"Sherlock," she began thoughtfully, "Why all this?"  
"All what?" he asked, licking the jam off his fingers.  
"Breakfast in bed. You've never made me breakfast in bed before"  
"Well, there's a first time for everything," he said. He fell quiet for a moment. "I just wanted to…"  
"To what, Darling?" she asked.  
"I just wanted to do something…more" She watched him fidget a minute before moving the tray to the end of the bed and crawling until she was sitting across from him. She lifted his head with her fingertips, brushing away the curls that fell into his eyes.  
"Sherlock," she said, "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock sighed. What _was_ he talking about? Even he didn't understand the depth of what he was feeling, so how was he supposed to explain it to her? John Watson's voice popped into his head, always the voice of reason. _Just say it Sherlock, just be honest._ John was usually right, so he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I want more, Molly," he told her quietly. "I want to be more than just your boyfriend. I want to spend every night with you, in a bed we share together, and wake up in your arms each morning. I want to kiss you goodbye as you leave for work. I want to grow old with you. Molly, I want you to be my _wife_ "

Silence followed. He let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes. He found Molly staring at him, eyes wide. A tiny, slow smile spread across her face. Her eyes were bright.

"Sherlock Holmes, are you trying to ask me to marry you?" she whispered.  
"I guess I am," he whispered back. "What do you say, Molly?" her smile got bigger.  
"Molly Holmes sounds very nice indeed," she murmured.

Sherlock pulled her into his arms. For once in his life, words escaped him. Molly Hooper wanted to be his wife. The joy that filled his heart was such that he had never experienced. For a long while they sat, Molly in his lap, wrapped in his arms.

"What shall we do about a ring, now?" her breath tickled his ears. He grinned and squeezed her tighter.


End file.
